You might not be shocked to learn that Elizabeth Warren’s favorite Taylor Swift song is about cosmic justice.
“I love ‘Karma,’” the senator from Massachusetts said last night during a Zoom event for a group called Swifties for Kamala. “And I have a thing or two to say about private equity!” The 34,000 attendees probably would have cheered, but, as is typical for such a massive webinar, only the organizers had control of the microphone and camera. Warren was undaunted by the lack of response. “It is going to be a tough fight ahead,” she said, winding up. “There are only 24 hours in a day—or 144 ‘All Too Well’ 10-minute versions.” [Pause for no laughter.] “But here’s the thing, just like you’ve done every time before, we will push this boulder up the hill.”
Only a die-hard Swiftie would have caught all the references in Warren’s words, which included a jab at the investment group backing Swift’s nemesis, Scooter Braun, and a lyric from a Swift deep cut said to be about the singer’s beef with Kim Kardashian. It seems safe to assume that Warren did not write all of these quips herself. But she would not be the only speaker on the call whose staffers had squeezed an unconscionable number of jokes into last night’s remarks.
Identity-based calls to action have been all the rage in this season of Democratic politics, with events like White Dudes for Harris and Win With Black Women drawing tens of thousands of attendees. Although America’s Swifties are not an ethnic or racial group, they are arguably a religious one. Last night’s call was an attempt to harness their unflagging devotion to the pop star and put it to political use.
The whole thing was, somehow, even cringier than I had anticipated—and, as a Swiftie myself, I am familiar with the fandom’s extreme dorkiness. The organizers looked startlingly young and inexperienced—introducing lawmakers in shaky voices, clearly nervous to be blindly addressing thousands of viewers. They passed the mic too often, rambled, and misspoke. And the middle-aged politicians were working painfully hard to demonstrate fluency in the dialect of Swiftworld.
Still, the cringe seemed, at least partly, the point. Like the broader Harris campaign, these organizers leaned into the awk. “There’s been a lot of talk about how joy isn’t a strategy,” Irene Kim, a Swifties for Kamala co-founder and its executive director, said on the call, citing a recent New York Times op-ed. “But that definitely hasn’t been our experience!”
The project began with a post by a 22-year-old named Emerald Medrano, who runs a popular Swift fan account. “I feel like us U.S. swifties should mass organize and help campaign for Kamala Harris,” he wrote on X in July. Soon, Swifties for Kamala was born: a partnership of fans, some of whom run social-media accounts and others who have experience in Democratic politics. A month later, the group has 71,000 followers on X, a Substack newsletter, and a Discord channel.
The organizers seem to assume that Swift, who backed Joe Biden in 2020, will support the Democratic nominee. But Swift has not actually endorsed anyone yet, a fact that went unacknowledged in last night’s call. Her support in the race is highly sought after; last week, Donald Trump shared tacky AI deepfakes to claim he had the pop star’s backing. During the Democratic National Convention, rumors swirled of a surprise musical performance: Would it be Taylor? (No.)
“We’re keeping things political, but also everything has a layer of Swiftiness to it,” Annie Wu Henry, the campaign manager at Swifties for Kamala, who has also worked for Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and other progressive lawmakers, said during last night’s call. Organizers wore Swift-themed cardigans and displayed glittery #47s on their hands, in reference to what could be Harris’s place in the presidential timeline. They encouraged viewers in the Zoom chat to chip in either $13 or $19.89—both important Swiftian numbers—and, like Taylor, they frequently folded their hands into hearts for the camera.
The Zoom event was light on policy talk, heavy on allusion. After Warren spoke, Representative Becca Balint of Vermont offered a pep talk: “The MAGA movement will be defeated by our dominoes, cascading in a line!” she said, quoting the song “Mastermind.” Senator Kirsten Gillibrand of New York read off a few jokes. “Karma is a relaxing thought, but for Donald Trump it’s not—facts!” she said, to the ever-silent audience. “If you’re in line to vote, stay, stay, stay!” When Senator Ed Markey of Massachusetts showed up, he revealed that his favorite Swift song is, oddly, “Snow on the Beach”—because it highlights the risks of global warming. “Climate change is threatening our favorite phenomenon,” the senator said, before adding that the waters outside Swift’s beach house in Rhode Island are “some of the fastest-warming … in the world!”
Just like a Taylor Swift marketing campaign, the Zoom call promised surprises and exciting guests. There would be a big announcement at 8 p.m., organizers teased, and a very special person would wrap up the call at about 8:30 p.m. One special speaker was the singer-songwriter Carole King, now in her 80s, who materialized like a yellow-haired fairy godmother. King, who called Swift her “musical and songwriting granddaughter,” sang part of the chorus from “Shake It Off,” and offered advice to first-time campaign volunteers: “The key to door-knocking is asking a good question and then listening.” She urged Swifties to ask voters what they might find in common with Harris. “You’re building a bridge to that person,” King said—aware, apparently, of how much Swifties appreciate bridges.
At 8 o’clock, the big announcement was made: Merch drop! Swiftie T-shirts and tote bags reading In My Voting Era were for sale—no affiliation, organizers carefully reminded fans, with Swift herself.
Nearly two hours into the call, the surprise final guest—Representative Jasmine Crockett of Texas, a rising Democratic star—still hadn’t appeared. The leaders of Swifties for Kamala began signing off. “I’m so blessed, and so happy and fully immersed in Swiftie-ism right now,” Medrano said. “We’re going to paint the town blue, and it’s going to be the coolest thing that’s ever happened in this country!”
The letdown didn’t kill their enthusiasm—with Swifties, it never does. The group had raised money at a clip that the capitalist icon herself would have been proud of: The night’s fundraising haul totaled an auspicious $122,000. If Harris is hoping that joy and—yes—cringe can help her win the White House, she’s got the right fandom on her side.